


On Fire

by aflockofseagulls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AND GAY, M/M, NO SPOILERS!! at all actually, RIP, a lot of cuddling, especially not for the new dlc....i have not.....played....yet, this is sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflockofseagulls/pseuds/aflockofseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a lifetime of being let down, Dorian and Bull find a happiness in each other's arms.</p>
<p>Kind of a vignette about the two of them dating more than anything else. </p>
<p>Lots of cuddling and generally being cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Fire

The wind blows coldly in the early evening sunset, fall colors basking in the orange glow of a setting sun that casts long shadows across an empty balcony – or, more properly, mostly empty. A lone figure stands on one side, hands resting on the railing, staring into the distance. His hair is short, yet still it ruffles in the wind with each gust, the same gusts that blow and contort his outfit. For an ensemble so finely-tailored and intricately designed, it did a downright terrible job of keeping anyone, Dorian included, warm on these kinds of nights. But he didn’t mind. Why would he?

Fingers absentmindedly twirl a precisely groomed moustache, threatening to undo the work of gallons of gel, in some ways more a tempting of fate than an expression of boredom. The dreadful brute had kept him waiting for so long, after all, and his train of thought had been that a little risk might brighten the mood a bit. This assessment turned out to be mostly wrong, as it just left him there, playing with his moustache, no more entertained than he had been beforehand. But such was life.

He counts the seconds for a time. They pass slowly, seeming more like the sand that drips from the top portion of an hourglass than anything else. Eventually the seconds turn into minutes, each movement of the clock’s long hand signaling a groan and increased fidgeting, until Dorian’s nearly about to twitch his way into accidentally using a fire spell. Only then does he finally compose himself, brushing his coat with his hands and taking a comb to the windblown hair that grows from his head, cleaning himself for the short walk back to the center of Skyhold. He’d yell at his lover himself if he had to, but to make such a dashing and charming man wait this long for nothing? It was nearly a crime.

The grey stone makes a dull noise as he turns on his heel, chest puffed out and pointed directly towards his destination – the ladder downward. He had the entire path planned out in his head already; down the ladder, through the halls, across the garden, through the castle, down the stairs, towards the bar…it was flawless; all variables accounted for and all alternative paths of action properly compartmentalized.

Or, almost all variables, anyway. He hadn’t counted on two of them, unfortunately, and this was a mistake he was made to find out the hard way. Perhaps more aptly it would be the soft way, as Bull’s breasts were the opposite of hard, a fact Dorian knew from copious amounts of intensive research and experimentation. _Very_ serious Inquisition business, of course.

So many things seem to happen in a frame of time so short that a glass dropped from the side of a table wouldn’t have yet broken by the time they were finished. The slow spread of red through Dorian’s tan skin as he recoils in half-horror, half-awe, hands desperately moving in front of him once he realizes that he’s recoiled just a bit too much, leaving him precariously teetering on the edge of falling flat on his behind. He really does think he’s going to fall for a minute, and Bull can see it in his eyes plain as day; the way his pupils dilate reflect the immediate reaction to the drop in his stomach. Only because of this does the Qunari step in, extending his arm to catch the falling man.

“Wouldn’t wanna break ya.” Bull’s gravelly voice marks the end of the action, leaving the two of them posed in a manner that wouldn’t look out of place in the great stages of Val Royeaux, a connection Dorian almost immediately picks up on and uses as a justification to bounce out of his place with.

Any lingering anger is forgotten in their kiss – the kiss one of them has to stand on the tips of their toes in order to give and the kiss that neither wants to break once it’s begun. It was a feeling of belonging, of want, but yet a feeling more than want. Bull had experienced want before – it was a common occurrence for a man of his nature. Never though, had he experienced this, this warmth that seemed to flow from the other man’s lips as they kissed, almost as if Dorian was giving himself to the other. Not in a sexual way, like so many others had, but…something more. He didn’t know how to phrase it and he didn’t want to sully the moment and ruin the kiss with a misplaced focus.

Dorian nearly melts into Bull’s arms as the kiss begins, feeling safe for the first time in his Maker-forsaken life in the arms of another. He kisses him with everything he has to give, and in a way that says he’d offer more, if he had it.

Eventually the heads of the two men draw back, and the connection of a kiss is replaced with the connection of a smile, energizing the air between them with a warmth that seems to drive the sharp coldness of the evening breezes away. They exchange half-pleasantries and half-insults, chastising the other for their lateness, their clumsiness, or perhaps a mixture of both. Dorian’s the first to crack from it – he always is – and immediately goes off on a grandiose speech about all the things Bull’s done wrong in the past few days, including, but not limited to: the way he fell asleep on top of Dorian and nearly crushed his lungs last night in bed, the way he had spilled a full glass of beer onto a newly-cleaned dress tunic, the way he had nearly broken Dorian’s foot during the dance practice they had done at Dorian’s insistence.

The list seemed to go on and on, and Bull’d have stopped him sooner, but he loved watching how animated the mage was. The way his face seemed to display every emotion larger than life, exaggerating everything and leaving nothing as simply an ordinary feeling, it made him…feel comforted, in a way. He’d never admit it, of course, but as a man who routinely wondered about the validity and integrity of his own emotions, to see someone with more than enough emotion for the both of them…

Bull chuckled, and finally stops Dorian, at that point having reached the time he dropped specially-imported Tevinter-style grapes from the side of Skyhold, in Bull’s words, ‘because it looked like fun.’ Dorian pouts at him for a moment, eyes closed and lips puffed a bit, but he can’t bear to avert his eyes from Bull for that long. Eventually he laughs as well, and turns back towards the other.

“I love you, you know.” Dorian’s words are remarkably assured.

“Oh, I know.” Bull’d have winked at him if he could, instead opting to send the most knowing smile he could muster, scratching at his facial hair. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sorry for all of that, and I love you too.”

“It most certainly does make me feel better!” Dorian seems to stand at attention for a moment before breaking into a laugh and moving closer to the other until their bodies are touching.

They both enjoy the closeness and the warmth. It had been too long since either of them had really, really had a relationship as good as they had now. In fact, Dorian had plundered the depths of his mind to try and find an equivalent, and he couldn’t. Never in his life had he felt as important as he did in the arms of the Iron Bull. And he didn’t mind. He really didn’t.

The two eventually sit down, as promised, on the rug and chairs prepared by Dorian as part of a date idea he had so gracefully come up with on his own. He had charmed Bull in by the prospect of free food (though that’s not to say he wouldn’t have come along if there hadn’t been food – it was Dorian, so he’d do it regardless, the food was just more of an added bonus) and fell back on the Qunari’s skills at carrying large objects when it came time to move things up the long ladder. Dorian, of course, had bowed out of taking part in this leg of the preparations, but made sure to keep a watchful eye on the Qunari as he labored diligently for his ever-so-watchful boyfriend, especially when it came to how his back muscles contorted as he climbed down the wooden ladder, or the way that he panted and wiped the sweat off his brow when he found himself just a tad tired out.

Neither has much to say about the food proper. It was Skyhold food; neither could cook and neither was particularly fond of it, but there was something about being around each other that just seemed to make it taste a little better. Perhaps it was due to the things that came out of their mouths between bites, the playful banter and recollection of stories that made them both laugh or blush, sometimes both at the same time. Even Bull, as stoic as he prided himself on being, flushed with red a few times at Dorian’s prodding, both only growing more open as the wine flows into glass after glass, until eventually neither seems to have inhibitions nor decency left to spare.

And then, almost suddenly, they’re in each other’s arms, warm bodies wrapped together under the night sky. Dorian’s wrapped himself solidly around Bull, as only someone with as stocky a frame as his could muster. Bull returned the favor by wrapping one arm around Dorian in turn, and the warmth they share is hotter than some of the first fire spells Dorian had ever learned, a fact only made worse by the warm drunkenness that colors each of their faces.

Their conversations slow, eventually, and turn towards the sky above them. They talk about the constellations in the night sky, about what they called them in their homelands, in their native tongues, what they represented, and then what they, you know, _kind of actually looked like_. Bull’s remark one particularly important Tevinter constellation looked something like a nug with a bottle of wine for its body prompted a noise from Dorian that cannot be properly conveyed through text.

They can talk about anything given the time and the assurance it’ll only be the two of them. Both opens up like they never would otherwise, detailing things that bother them to a supportive ear that’ll always take their side. At one point, after the topic returns to his father, Dorian starts crying, causing Bull to pull him closer and plant a soft kiss on his forehead, large hand running across his back and rubbing, trying to offer him some kind of figurative protection – and it helps. Dorian, after a last sniffle, pulls himself closer to Bull, squishing against his side and nuzzling his cheek, something he absolutely never would have done sober, and something Bull probably would have laughed at if he was sober.

To be that close without real contact, though, is difficult, and eventually they launch into a continuation of earlier’s kiss, this time with the scent of wine on both of their breaths. They kiss passionately, not afraid now to chance forwardness with the use of tongue, rolling a bit back and forth as they kiss and grope, eyes half-closed in the darkness of the night.

No matter how exciting a kiss can possibly be, the grasping hands of sleep always seem to claim their target, and in this case, they take Bull. The slowing of the kiss is gradual, but before Dorian knows it, Bull is asleep, and Dorian is left just barely awake, eyes fluttering open and struggling against the weight of his eyelids. In his last moments, he moves himself just a little bit closer, his head against Bull’s shoulder, ear pressed to his skin, listening for a heartbeat to lull himself softly into sleep with – and he does, he finds it and grounds himself with it, the dull thud of Bull’s heart thumping behind rising crescendos of gusts of wind, and a melody of voices in the distance, others enjoying the night, or perhaps couples united just like they were.

He manages one last smile before drifting to sleep, blissfully unaware of the fact that the sunrise’ll wake the two of them in only four hours, leading to an entire day of crabbiness and a cowlick that won’t seem to go away, not to mention whatever temporary back problems one can get from sleeping on stone.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to experiment with a more impressionistic versus descriptive writing style and I think I accomplished that? Sort of? I dunno.
> 
> I'll probably take a stab at it again at some point. I do have a lot of things I wanna write involving these two. We'll just see what happens in time.
> 
> Still having an emotional crisis on who to romance in my newest run-through of DAI because I want Doribull to happen, but also, like, I love Dorian and I love Bull. Life is difficult and my patience is being tested but ANYWAY I hope you enjoyed this. Thank you for reading.


End file.
